


come down slow

by sevenofroc



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Andrew Minyard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 14:03:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofroc/pseuds/sevenofroc
Summary: Andrew doesn’t know if he’s ever been that much of himself. When they kiss, Neil tastes a little like cheap beer and mostly like chips and dip, and he holds Andrew’s face like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else, and Andrew figures that maybe he’s a little more himself when he’s with Neil.orAndrew is graduating and neither he nor Neil want to admit that they're nervous about it.





	come down slow

**Author's Note:**

> I love these boys so much. Andrew is definitely a fun POV to write from.

               Andrew didn’t think today would be a good day. And it wasn’t, not really, but he doesn’t feel as terrible as he assumed that he would. He steps out of the shower, his cap and gown hanging from the light fixture above the mirror because Nicky had told him it would smooth out the wrinkles over dinner the night before. _You can’t iron those things,_ He’d said. _They’re too cheap._ He and Erik had flown in from Germany a few days before to watch him and Aaron graduate. Renee is graduating, too. They had talked about it a few nights before, when she found him smoking by the dumpster behind Fox Tower. She asked him if he was nervous and he’d said that he was. Andrew had signed with a team in New York and would be moving out there mid-August, but at least he’ll get to spend the with Neil. Being so far away grates on his nerves a little, being alone in a new city without anyone to read him like Neil does. He doesn’t know when he’d become so dependent. He stands in front of the fogged mirror and locks eyes with himself. He doesn’t know how he’s going to walk across that stage tomorrow. He didn’t think he’d ever get this far.

               The door to his dorm opens, familiar footsteps and slightly labored breathing accompanying the click of the lock. Andrew had left the bathroom door cracked to let moisture out, so the ceiling wouldn’t mold, and he watches Neil’s silhouette pass the opening and continue to his dresser.

               “I’ll wait to shower,” He says, though Andrew isn’t sure why exactly he needs to know. “Let it dry up a little.”

               Andrew doesn’t respond – just wraps a towel around his waist and exits the bathroom instead. Neil is half-clothed, too – well, closer to two-thirds-clothed with his shirt halfway down his forearms. He pulls it completely off and tosses it into his cheap, wire hamper. Neil doesn’t watch him get dressed, and Andrew is quietly grateful for it. When he’s pulled sweat-pants and a hoodie on, he flops onto Neil’s bed loudly enough for him to know he can turn around. He does, still shirtless, beads of sweat drying in his hair-line.

               “It’s nice out,” Neil says. Then, “Kevin’s not gonna make it. He’s got a game tomorrow night and a mandatory practice at noon. He said he’d call.”

               “I know,” is all Andrew says in reply. He watches Neil wander around the room, changing as he goes – watches the way his lean muscle warps the dull, white scars stretching across his skin like train tracks. He wants to trace them with his mouth. When he reaches Neil’s face, he notes the sly curve of his mouth and the amused way his eyes glint.

               “Staring,” Neil chirps, earning a scowl. Neil is always prettier before he talks.

               “Sit down,” Andrew says, gesturing to the spot beside him, and Neil does, mouth still curved. Andrew wants to kiss him, so he says – “Yes or no?”, and he’s hardly formed the “y” before Neil leans in. Neil comes alive underneath of him when Andrew puts Neil’s hands on his own shoulders, lets Neil curl his fingers in the blond hairs at the nape of his neck. Andrew swallows a shiver and kisses him harder, licking into his mouth, hands caged around Neil’s head when he moves to hover over him. Neil is as eager as he always is, huffing into his mouth like he’s dying, kissing Andrew back like he’s been waiting for it all day, like he’s never going to get it again. His eagerness fuels Andrew most days, and it does today, too, as he curls his fingers around Neil’s jaw and presses him down into the mattress. It’s kind of nice to have such absent suitemates like Aaron and Robin, both of which are usually somewhere studying or with Katelyn, in Aaron’s case. Andrew doesn’t know which it is today, and he hardly cares with Neil’s tongue in his mouth.

               Andrew grabs at Neil’s waistband, and he exhales “ _Touch me, yes,”_ before Andrew can even get around to asking. The words breathed into Andrew’s mouth send a shudder down his spine, and he slides his hand into Neil’s boxers and wraps his fingers around him. Neil gasps and curses, and Andrew can’t imagine that one touch would feel as good as Neil always makes it seem, but the thought of Neil’s hand on him makes his stomach a little hot. He’s let Neil get him off a handful of times before, now two years into this “nothing” that they have. Fingers have been involved, too, with Neil underneath him, writhing, and Andrew can’t help but want it. Wanting is so foreign to him. Neil is slick and heavy in his hand, and the hot coil in his abdomen keeps winding tighter with each breathless noise Neil makes into his mouth.

               “Neil,” He says, his voice a little too rough to sound apathetic, and Neil looks at him, pupils blown and eyes brighter than before they’d kissed. “I want you to touch me.”

               Neil raises his eyebrows, hand inching toward the waistband of Andrew’s sweats. “Yes?” He says, and Andrew nods. Neil’s hand hesitates. “You have to say it, I need –,”

               “– _Yes,”_ Andrew snaps, and Neil’s knuckles brush his abdomen as he slips his hand past the elastic. His hand is warm and rough, and Andrew’s breath catches when Neil tightens his fingers around him. He grips Neil a little tighter, too, moves his hand a little faster because he wants Neil to look more wrecked than Andrew feels right now, like he can’t breathe through his own knot of arousal. They aren’t kissing anymore, with Neil’s head pressed back into the pillows and Andrew’s hanging forward between his hunched shoulders, chin almost to his chest and hair obscuring his eyes. He pants against Neil’s collarbone, though his ragged breathing is drowned out by Neil. Neil grinds his hips upwards, his pace on Andrew stuttering. 

               “ _Fuck,_ Andrew, I’m not gonna last,” He hisses, and Andrew just grips him a little tighter, earning a shaky groan from Neil. It doesn’t take long for him to let go, to come across Andrew’s knuckles with a low whine, his hand on Andrew stilling altogether. He doesn’t move it.

               “Still yes?” He asks once he’s caught his breath.

               Andrew clenches and unclenches his jaw. “Yes,” he says after a minute.

               Neil kisses him, thumb rubbing along the underside, and Andrew can’t fully suppress the twitch of his hips. Neil’s mouth is hot and fervent, tongue sliding against the roof of his mouth, teeth nipping at his lower lip while his hand draws a choked gasp from Andrew. He never says anything about Andrew’s noises, but Andrew knows he’s smug about it. It’d be unlike him is he wasn’t. Andrew wants to tell him to stop, to flip him over and fuck him, but he knows they don’t have time before the grad party, and they’ve never done it before, and the image of it leaves an odd taste in his mouth. It’s a boundary they’ve never crossed. So, he lets Neil unravel him, just a little, lets himself press a groan into Neil’s throat when he finally tips over the edge. Neil has his mouth against his temple when he comes back to himself, chest heaving. He pushes himself up off of Neil with his clean hand and stands before heading to the bathroom to wash the other. Neil is wiping his off with a tissue when he comes back into to room.

               “Go wash your hand,” He says flatly, and plops back onto Neil’s bed. Neil looks at him for a minute before obliging. Andrew listens to the faucet turn on and then off, and when Neil comes back, he sits at his desk to do homework. Andrew yawns and slings an arm over his face. Maybe he can get a nap in before the party.   

               Most everyone is already in the basement by the time he and Neil get there, drinking and chatting and hugging the alumni. Matt’s eyes brighten when he sees Neil, and Andrew knows he’s going to get stolen even before Matt exclaims “ _Neil!”_ and whisks him away. Andrew snags a piece of cake and watches Katelyn feed some to Aaron. Nicky and Erik are talking to Allison about German fashion, and Renee hangs around them with a soft smile on her face. She turns and spots Andrew, smiling a little wider before heading over to him.

               “The cake is good, isn’t it?” She says. “I already had a piece.”

               Andrew hums in agreement and chews the bite he’d put in his mouth a minute ago. The icing melts against his tongue.

               “I can’t believe we graduate tomorrow,” She says a little wistfully. “It feels like we just got here.”

               Andrew hums absently, but it feels like it’s been centuries since he met Neil. “It feels like it’s been far too long,” He mutters, and Renee laughs.

               “Sometimes,” Is all she says, then follows Andrew’s gaze to where Neil is. He’s laughing at something Dan said, Matt’s arm draped across his shoulder. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

               “He’s an idiot, not stupid,” Andrew says, taking another bite of his cake. Neil would call him a lot, probably, tell him to get Skype and video chat every night. He also knows himself well enough to know that sometimes he’ll ignore Neil’s calls, staring at the way his phone screen lights up the dark ceiling instead. He knows himself well enough that he can almost feel the heavy emptiness that comes with being alone, when he has nothing to distract himself with.

               Renee’s voice is a little more serious when she speaks again. “What about you?” She tucks a pastel pink strand of hair behind her ear, brows furrowed slightly in concern.

               Andrew shrugs. “I’ll survive,” He says flippantly. He wants a cigarette. He chews on his lip. “I’m going to the roof.”

               She smiles gently. “Want me to tell Neil?”

               He shakes his head. “I’ll tell him.”

               Andrew finishes his piece of cake and weaves through the people, acknowledging the congratulations he gets from some, hugging his arms close to his side so he’s touched as little as possible. He reaches Neil and lightly takes his elbow, to which Neil pauses mid-sentence to look at him. Dan smiles at Andrew, and Andrew thinks about smiling back but doesn’t. He’s never quite known what to do with Dan. He respects her, sure, and she’s definitely come around to the idea of him, softened her eyes and encouraged him a little more, but he doesn’t know if that’s because of Neil or because of something Neil helped her realize. Her wariness is probably well-deserved anyways.

               “You excited to graduate?” She says, and the sentence is almost too light to be small-talk.

              

“No,” He says simply, and looks over at Neil instead of waiting for her to respond. “I’m going to smoke. Find me when you’re done here.”

               Neil nods. “Yeah, I will.”

               Andrew thinks he hears Neil tell Dan, _“You know he’s hardly ever excited”,_ and she either sighs or Andrew imagines her doing it. He heads up to the roof instead of mulling over the exchange, which isn’t very hard to do. He sits down and stretches his legs out in front of him, lighting a cigarette before sitting back on one palm. He takes a drag and exhales through his nose. Neil does find him an hour later, buzzing with restless energy. He sits down beside Andrew and plucks his third cigarette from his mouth to stick it in his own. Andrew doesn’t protest.

               He also doesn’t protest when Neil starts telling him how everyone’s doing, how Matt’s thinking of proposing to Dan, but he’s nervous, how Nicky and Erik are looking to adopt a kid in the next few years _maybe._ It makes him feel sentimental in a detached sort of way, like he’d feel sentimental if he knew how, if he cared enough to feel it. Neil talks like he does, his voice light with fondness, eyes warm. This is one of Andrew’s favorite Neils, the one that laughs at Matt’s jokes and hugs Dan and lets Allison put makeup on him. The one that goes out of his way to take care of the freshman, the one that loves his friends and loves his life and doesn’t care about his psychopath, dead father or his neurotic, dead mother. The one that’s so _Neil_ that it hurts. Andrew doesn’t know if he’s ever been that much of himself. When they kiss, Neil tastes a little like cheap beer and mostly like chips and dip, and he holds Andrew’s face like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else, and Andrew figures that maybe he’s a little more himself when he’s with Neil.

               “We’re going to Columbia,” Andrew says, and Neil looks over at him, frowning.

               “Okay,” He says, and they both stand. Neil doesn’t ask him why, and Andrew is glad for his trust. He’s feeling a little too restless to stay here, a little too raw.

 

               They’re kissing when he backs Neil into the front door of the house, Neil’s hands in his hair, mouth hot and needy. It’s late, so Andrew doesn’t really care that they’re so out in the open like this. Neil fumbles blindly with the doorknob and eventually coaxes it open, the two of them half-falling through the doorway, Andrew kicking it shut behind him. Neil strips his shirt off as Andrew backs him into the bedroom and onto the bed, clumsily unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans to the floor, the fabric pooling around his ankles. Andrew’s on top of him the second he lays back, kissing and biting at his lips, Neil tugging at Andrew’s hair and panting curses into his mouth. Andrew moves to his jaw, sucking a bruise there so people know that Neil is _his_ and no one else’s, that Neil lets him take him apart and piece him back together like this, that Neil shows Andrew this flushed, needy side of him.

               “ _Andrew,”_ He groans, and Andrew’s stomach tightens. “Can I – yes or no – your _shirt, Andrew,”_ He stammers breathlessly, and Andrew exhales _yes_ , presses it into Neil’s throat, and lets him peel the fabric off his body. He lets him take the armbands off, too, lets him hold Andrew’s wrists while they kiss, let him run his hands over his back and shoulders, his waist. Andrew’s stomach flutters with need instead of panic, and _god_ it feels good to want it, to be wanted like this.

               “Where can I touch you?” Neil says, directing Andrew’s face to meet his eyes. They’re so blue.

               Andrew swallows, his chest tight with feeling, and he’s _feeling_ – he’s feeling a four-letter word that he knows but is too afraid to say, so instead, he says, “Anywhere.”

               Neil blinks, eyes wide. “ _Anywhere?”_

               Andrew nods. “Just ask first and tell me what you’re doing.”

               They’ve done this once before, the _anywhere_ , and Neil loves it just the same, when Andrew is feeling particularly emotional or fond and doesn’t know how else to say it. He’s _graduating_ , and by the end of the summer, he’s going to be states away from Neil. The distance is suffocating now, even though there’s none between them, their bodies so tightly pressed together that Andrew can’t tell quite where he ends and Neil begins. He swallows, his throat shifting against Neil’s lips, stomach fluttering where fingers drag against it.

                              “I want to fuck you,” He says suddenly, and Neil freezes. Andrew had started thinking about this just at the end of the first year of _this_ , of them, and he hasn’t stopped, but it doesn’t make him feel sick anymore. Now, it makes him feel hot and nervous, and he wants it to feel good and he just _doesn’t know, but he wants to._ He swallows again.

               Neil looks like he wants to say something, to ask something, but all he says is “ _Okay,”_ and “Tell me if you need to stop.”

               Andrew stays quiet while Neil peels his sweatpants from his hips, drags them down his legs and kisses just above his pelvis, above the waistband of his briefs. Neil is less quiet, checking if he’s allowed to continue with every inch, making sure that Andrew still wants it, still wants him.

               “I want to blow you, yes or no?” Neil says, slowly dragging Andrew’s underwear off, giving him time to protest, but he doesn’t.

               Andrew’s eyes flutter shut for a minute at the thought of the heat of Neil’s mouth, and it hardly takes him a second to say _yes_ , to slide his fingers into Neil’s auburn hair as he sinks down onto him. It takes is breath away for a minute, his mouth, and it feels like the closest he can get to dying without actually being dead. When Neil realizes that Andrew is watching him, watching the way his perfect lips stretch around him, he starts to show off a little, hollowing his cheeks and pulling off of Andrew with a _pop_ to circle his tongue slyly around the head. Andrew’s breath catches in his throat.

               “Get off,” He says suddenly, his voice low and rougher than it usually is, than he wants it to be, and Neil looks a little startled, a little worried. “Get on your back,” He says, elaborating to get the point across, to get things moving before he loses his nerve. Understanding crosses Neil’s face, and he moves to lay beside Andrew as Andrew sits up and leans over him, slanting their mouths together while he fully discards his pants and underwear somewhere off the side of the bed. Neil slides his hands over Andrew’s shoulders, digging his thumbs into the tense muscles. Andrew knows that there’s lube under the bed, pushed up against the wall so that they can reach when either of them slide their hand through the space between the wall and the bed, and Neil reaches down and pulls it up, handing it to Andrew, who takes it and sits back. The bottle is a little cool in his palm, having been by the air vent. This is still familiar territory – they’ve done this a few times before – and Neil picks his knees up, legs propped up and apart. Andrew smears lube across his first three fingers and swallows. He feels a little exposed just looking at Neil. 

               “Andrew,” Neil says, and though he doesn’t say anything else, Andrew knows what he means. He hears the question in the one word, in his name, the way he exhales it.

               “Still yes,” Andrew murmurs, because it is. He wants to do this. He needs to. He looks at Neil, expression steely and firm. Neil sobers up a little. “Tell me if you need to stop,” Andrew says sharply.

               Neil nods. “I will.”

               He rubs his index finger over Neil, presses the first knuckle in, watched the way Neil squirms in anticipation. He loves teasing him, loves the high flush on his cheeks and the desperate lilt to his voice when he’s _so close_ to begging. He has, once, somehow managed it without saying please, and Andrew can still remember the way his name sounds rolling off Neil’s tongue, the way it stumbled over his shaky exhale. He waits until Neil is breathing hard to slide the rest of his finger in, and Neil’s body is hot and clutches at him when he drags his finger back out.

               “Oh, fuck,” Neil gasps, and Andrew presses his finger back in and imagines what it’d feel like to be inside him. It makes his tongue feel a little heavy in his mouth, makes his stomach twist. Neil’s body gives easily to the second finger, and the wet gasp that leaves his mouth sends a streak of heat straight to Andrew’s groan. He tries to focus on the present, on the familiarity of Neil’s body around his fingers, but his mind goes straight to the intention, the _next_ , the idea that this is just part of the process, and his insides feel a little unsteady. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek and breathes through his nose, watching the way Neil writhes under him, eyes half-lidded and more black than blue. Andrew takes his time, working Neil open and stalling at the same time, waiting to feel a little more solid in his own skin, though he knows that he won’t.  He eventually pulls his fingers out, memorizing the soft, disappointed mewl Neil tries and fails to muffle. He gets a condom from the bedside table and sits back on his heels, the air cool on his exposed skin, and there’s _so much skin_ , and his mouth is dry, tongue stuck to the roof of it. His hands tremble as he fumbles with the wrapper, and Neil watches him for a minute before wordlessly taking it and ripping it open. He hands the condom to Andrew and sets the wrapper on the table. The sensation is foreign and odd and somewhat grounding as he rolls it on because he’s never used one before. He runs his hands up Neil’s shins and grips his knees.

               “Still yes?” Neil asks quietly.

               Andrew swallows. “Yes.”

               He rubs himself against Neil, eases the head in before he can talk himself out of it, and the tight heat is startling and suffocating. His breath hisses through his teeth as he exhales, and Neil’s fingers squeak across the wood as his grip on the headboard tightens. Andrew’s gaze snaps up to his face, to check for any discomfort, but he finds none.

               “Neil,” He says gruffly, checking anyways, and he gets a huffed, breathless _yes_ in response.

               “Burns a little,” Neil says after a minute, but he continues before Andrew can comment. “Kinda like it.”

               Andrew feels like he’s on fire. “Freak,” He grits out. He presses in further, slowly, trying to be slow, to be easy, but all he wants to do is fuck Neil senseless, to just give into the pull of him, the knit in his stomach. He braces his arms beside Neil’s head, and the muscles shake from the strain of holding back this much. The intensity of his own need surprises him, and he grinds his teeth together, trying to stamp it down.

               “Andrew,” Neil says hotly, and Andrew knows he’s going to try and get him riled up, knows he’s going to say something obscene. He eyes Andrew first, and Andrew knows he’s getting a read on him, to see if his rigid body language is discomfort or something else. His mouth quirks upwards when he finds what he was looking for.

               “Shut up,” Andrew snarls.

               Neil doesn’t, and Andrew doesn’t know what he expected.

               Neil wraps his arms around Andrew’s shoulders, kisses below his ear, down his throat. “You feel so fucking good,” He breathes.

               Andrew thinks his teeth might break. “Shut _up.”_

               Neil’s teeth drag across the side of his neck, and Andrew can’t help but shudder, chest heaving. He can feel the smug shape of Neil’s grin. “C’mon, Andrew,” He groans, and Andrew can feel his resolve crumbling.

               “ _Shut up,”_ He hisses again.

               Neil grins. “Just fuck me already,” He whines, and Andrew knows he’s faking it, playing it up to get under Andrew’s skin, and he hates how much it _works._ He grinds his hips forward, and the sensation nearly takes his breath away. He’s never felt anything like this before, never felt anything so intense, so _hot._ Neil makes a strangled noise, and Andrew figures it serves him right for having such a smart mouth. He curses and groans, and Andrew knows there’s no way he’s going to last long, so he wraps his hand around Neil and moves it in time with his own thrusts. Neil’s mouth goes slack, and he presses his head back into the pillow, heels hooked behind Andrew’s back, digging into his tail bone. There’s already so much pressure in his abdomen, but he doesn’t want it to be over yet, wants Neil to come first even though Andrew knows he probably won’t. Andrew changes the angle a little, grinds upwards into him, and Neil jerks violently beneath him with a startled yelp. Andrew freezes, but Neil is restless underneath him, squeezing at his shoulders and rubbing his hands up and down Andrew’s biceps.

               “No, no, _fuck, don’t stop, do that again,”_ He pleads, and Andrew gives him an experimental thrust that draws a long, guttural moan from Neil’s throat. Andrew can’t stifle the satisfaction he gets from that noise.

               Neil groans his name again, grinds upwards into Andrew’s fist, and then back onto _him_ , and Andrew can’t keep the wet gasp from leaving his mouth. _“Fuck,”_ He grits out, and the word feels like his own heart in his mouth with he way it’s racing, the way it crawls up his throat.

               “God, Andrew, you’re so good, c’mon, you’re _so good_ ,” Neil breathes, and Andrew hates him, he _hates him_ , but he’s coming, and it feels better than anything he’s ever felt before really, like he’s dying, like he can’t think straight. His hips stutter and he curses against Neil’s collarbone, his own voice foreign to him. It’s higher and rougher and almost _needy,_ and cracks and shakes around the word. He keeps moving his hand though, and it takes far too much of his brainpower, but Neil squirms and gasps and comes across his own stomach, back arched and rigid. Neil falls limply back to the bed, chest heaving, and Andrew can’t move. He feels like his chest is made of lead and full of cotton. He makes himself pull out, but doesn’t look, and his hands shake as he throws the condom away. When he inhales, he suddenly realizes that he needs to _leave_ but doesn’t want to, so he opts for quickly pulling his sweatpants on and sits stiffly at the edge of the bed.

               “Andrew,” Neil says, and it is both a question and a statement, firm and sure of itself. Andrew feels like neither. He feels like he can’t stand to be in his own skin, like he needs to shower, like he needs to _calm down and take deep breaths._ Neil doesn’t move closer, but begins to say “yes or no?”, and Andrew quickly says _no_ before Neil can even get to it. Neil sits up, then freezes.

               He frowns. “Andrew.”

               Andrew sucks in an uneven breath through his teeth. “Give me a minute.”

               He doesn’t understand what’s wrong, why he’s panicking, because nothing had been _wrong._ He’d wanted it, Neil had wanted it ( _but what if he didn’t, what if he didn’t),_ so it was fine, everything was fine. Good, even. Great. For him. Neil had seemed to enjoy it, too. Logically, he knew Neil had. He turns to look at Neil, with that worried crease between his brow, lips pressed into a thin line, hair mussed from the pillow and from Andrew’s hands, and Andrew suddenly feels something still inside him, though his hands still shake where they’re fisted in his lap.

               “Yes,” He says, needs Neil’s hands to ground him, to reassure him, and they do as Neil slides them over the back of his head, over his shoulder. Neil quietly presses his lips to Andrew’s shoulder.

               “It was good for me. I had a good time,” He says, and Andrew takes what feels like his first deep breath in days, though it’s only been a few minutes.

               They sit like that for a few minutes, just breathing, Neil’s mouth on his shoulder, hand on his back, tracing the notches of his spine.

               Finally, Andrew says, “I did too,” and realizes that he means it. He would do this again, _wants_ to do it again, would and probably will do it tomorrow if Neil wants to, and knowing Neil, he probably will. He feels proud of himself, that he was able to be touched, to touch the way he and Neil did. He didn’t even need to leave the room after.

               Neil stands eventually and disappears into the bathroom while Andrew fixes the sheets, pulls a hoodie on, and crawls under them, back pressed to the wall. Neil returns in sweatpants and nothing else and lays down, facing Andrew.

               “You’re pretty horny for someone who doesn’t swing,” Andrew drawls boredly, when he finally grows tired of Neil’s fond staring. His gaze only softens further.

               “Only for you,” He teases, and Andrew wants to both kiss him and punch him. Most things out of Neil’s mouth elicit this response.

               Andrew says, “I hate you,” and Neil’s smile widens into something more mischievous than fond.

               “So I’ve noticed,” He grins.

               On second thought, Andrew can’t wait until the end of summer.


End file.
